


5(+1) kisses that changed the course of Steve & Natasha's relationship

by IronSwordStarShield (SweetFanfics)



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 3490
Genre: 5+1 Things, Developing Relationship, Earth-3490 Exchange, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Protective Steve Rogers, mutually pining idiots, protective natasha stark, reference to off-screen bullying, reference to the SHRA but it isn't part of the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 03:19:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19782163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/IronSwordStarShield
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin can. 5+1 scenarios where Steve & Natasha kiss.





	5(+1) kisses that changed the course of Steve & Natasha's relationship

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for imaginaryelle over on tumblr who gave me a lot of neato choices and one of the scenarios I got was "3) First kiss – is it romantic? Impulsive? Planned and not supposed to involve feelings at all? Do the media or the Avengers get involved, or are Steve and Natasha alone with their feelings? A five-times kiss fic could also be lots of fun :D." And Uh, honestly a five-times kiss fic is just so up my alley. I hope you like it!!!
> 
> The regret scene is picked up from the comics and my fool butt didn't take note of the comic _or_ issue number but it was when Steve and Sam are trying to find Bucky. They go to Tony for help but he declines helping them because of reasons.
> 
> This fic wouldn't freaking exist if it wasn't for Jini, who cheered me on & helped me plot this, & wynnesome, who beta'd this and gave this such a polish that I'm yell like YO!!!!!!!!! 
> 
> **WARNING:** The final scene involves Steve & Natasha pass by two kids who imply that one of them got bullied/beat up because they were a mutant.

_With a kiss let us set out for an unknown world -Alfred de Musset_  


───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

__Thoughtless_ _

Steve’s been out of the ice for three weeks now and all he’s been doing is observing: what’s changed, what are the people like, how much does he have to learn? And one thing he’s learned while living with the other Avengers at their mansion, is that their benefactor, Natasha Stark, really loves her coffee.

Steve knew a guy during the war who couldn’t start his day before having some coffee. He’d sit in his corner, nursing a cup of joe, face transforming from sleepy bleariness to wakefulness. He’d told Steve once that he was useless if he didn’t have his coffee first thing in the morning. The first time Steve sees Natasha Stark _chug_ coffee straight out of the carafe, he thinks Alonzo would have loved Natasha.

It’s amazing and alarming to watch the brunette drink coffee in the morning. Super soldier serum or not, it makes his stomach ache in sympathy because _surely_ that’s asking for an ulcer? But Jan just pats his arm and tells him that Natasha’s stomach is used to it by now. Not that that makes him feel any better, if he’s honest. But it seems like Natasha needs her coffee the same way Alonzo did, so Steve makes the effort to learn what she likes.

He pokes through the kitchen cabinets, pausing every so often to stare judgmentally at some of the things the other Avengers eat (dehydrated broccoli florets? Okra as a snack? _What?_ ) before stumbling onto the coffee cabinet. To say he’s intimidated by the sheer quantity and variety of coffee stashed in the one cabinet would be an understatement. Thank God for Jarvis because he’s put neat labels on each packet of coffee beans telling who it belongs to. 

From that Steve learns that Natasha’s got an extensive coffee collection - a fantastically colorful collection of coffee canisters (That’s a tongue twister...). There are beans from Kenya, Ethiopia, Hawaii, Tanzania, Indonesia. It’s overwhelming and he’s made a full circle back to feeling intimidated. Steve turns to Jarvis for help, asking why _anyone_ would need _this much_ coffee?

Jarvis draws him a small table that tells Steve under which circumstances Natasha drinks which coffee. It all feels extravagant to the ninth degree. But who is he to pass judgement on someone who has so generously opened up her home to a bunch of strangers? Besides, the whole point of his exercise is to show some gratitude to the woman. So Steve commits the chart to memory and asks Jarvis to please teach him how to brew each of these coffees.

It takes him a while but he finally manages to get them right enough to meet Jarvis’ exacting standards. But that doesn’t mean Steve’s not nervous as hell the morning he decides to make a thermos for Natasha to take with her to the office. He’s not sure how she’ll take it but Steve sends up a silent prayer that she’ll be pleasantly surprised.

Steve’s pouring the coffee into a silver thermos when Natasha sweeps in, a file stuck between her teeth, cell phone squished between her chin and neck, as she shrugs a dark blazer on. 

“Iz zere any ‘onuts?” she asks, file still in her teeth as she buttons the blazer up.

Steve pauses mid-way screwing the thermos closed because _what?_ On the other side of the island, a sleepy Clint nudges the box of donuts towards Natasha. 

“Fanks,” she says, grabbing a donut blindly before she turns to Steve, or more precisely, the thermos he’s holding in his hands. She makes a gimme gimme gesture that Steve obediently follows. Steve watches her juggle her things around, sticking the file under her arm, phone tucked against her shoulder, donut and thermos filling her hands. 

He’s leaning in, about to ask if he could carry something for her, when Natasha darts in to press a kiss to his cheek. It’s quick, it’s dry, it’s warm, and it’s _wholly_ unexpected.

Steve’s blinking his surprise away when Natasha breezes out the door with a quick, “Thanks for the coffee.” 

He stares at the empty doorway for a long minute before he turns to Clint, about to ask if he just saw what happened, but Clint’s fallen asleep with his head on his arms.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────  
_Deliberate_

They’re supposed to present a united front tonight to show that the Avengers stand behind Natasha Stark, who has recently been revealed to be Iron Man. If anyone asks, they’re supposed to say they support Natasha and her choice to maintain her anonymity, even from the team because it had never affected the work she did. Under no circumstances are they to show that she and Steve have been having shouting matches since they’d found out.

Steve stews in his hurt as he moves through the crowd. He doesn’t understand why Natasha doesn’t get it. She’d been putting herself at risk every time they went into the field! Something could have happened to her and none of them would have been the wiser! They wouldn’t have been to help if she’d ever... if anything would have...

Exhaling slowly, Steve forces himself to pay attention to his surroundings. He’s wondering who to mingle with when a warm palm presses against his shoulder. As he turns, he catches sight of Natasha sidling up to him.

She’s wearing red tonight. Iron Man red. It’s supposed to be a statement. Steve doesn’t get it. But she looks great. Steve’s not ever going to admit how tongue-tied he’d felt seeing her sashay out of her room in that slinky dress of hers. _Ever._ When he pays closer attention, Steve realizes her smile is a little too big and a little too fake. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say she was deeply uncomfortable about something and barely hanging onto her mask.

“Need your help real quick, Cap,” she whispers to him urgently. His body snaps to attention, wondering what kind of threat they’re dealing with. Could be a bomb threat or hostages or- “Christine Everhart is on the prowl.” Ah. The press. Steve’ll take a villain crashing the party any day over dealing with a journalist.

“How bad is it?” he asks, pulling her arm into the crook of his elbow even as he takes half a step closer to her. Physical closeness will imply they’re on good terms, that’s what one of the PR people had told him. 

Natasha shudders theatrically. “She’s the worst of the lot because she’s like a shark. One whiff of blood and she won’t stop till she’s found her prey. Worse yet, she’s _damn_ good at sniffing out any weak spots.”

So there’s a good chance their whole story might be blown if they can’t manage to convince this Christine person. Steve nods and asks, “What do we do? How can we convince her?”

Her fingernails dig into the flesh of his arm. “I don’t know,” the admission saps something out of her, turning her blue eyes dull. “She’s convinced this whole thing is an act and you’re actually going to throw me off the team.”

“I’d _never-_ !” Steve stops, presses his lips together in an unhappy grimace before he tries again, in a lower tone but no less intense. “I’d _never_ throw you off the team. We need you, Natasha.”

“You need Iron Man,” she points out, a touch unhappily. “Anyone could pilot the suit.”

“No. It’s got to be you. You and that big brain of yours have saved us more times than I can count in the field. You’re irreplaceable. We’re not the Avengers without you there.” 

He doesn’t understand the look that flashes through Natasha’s eyes after his little speech. It’s pained disbelief mingled with joy. Like she really didn’t believe... that he’d really want her to... Jeez. He’s hecked up royally hasn’t he? How could he have ever made her think that he wouldn’t want her on the team? Why would she believe they’d want to replace her? 

Impulsively, he raises her hand to his lips and brushes a kiss against the knuckles. “I want you on the team. At my six. There’s no one else I trust more. You’re my best friend, Shellhead. I can’t do this without you.”

There’s a dangerous wobble to Natasha’s smile that brings a suspiciously wet sheen to Natasha’s pretty blue eyes. Realizing that he may have driven Natasha to the point of tears, which is panic-inducing because she hasn’t _once_ in all their ugly yelling matches come even close to crying. Steve’s on the verge of giving into his panic and launching into an apology when Natasha’s eyes slide away, shyly this time, if the smile growing on her lips is anything to go by.

“Thanks, Winghead.”

_She’s so lovely,_ he finds himself thinking helplessly as she presses against his side, eyes and smile still directed down at the floor.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────  
_Clandestine_

According to the Avengers bylaws, there’s nothing wrong with two teammates dating each other. As long as the relationship doesn’t negatively affect their work, it’s all good. So that means him and Natasha _could_ date if they wanted to. But he doesn’t have the courage to ask her out. 

Jeez Louise, why would a girl like her want to date a guy like him anyways? Steve sighs sadly (moodily, he can almost hear Thor teasing him) as he watches Natasha work on her armor. There’s honestly no way she’d be interested in him. He’s not the type she likes. She likes her partners witty, smart like herself --not someone who keeps unintentionally hurting her by putting his foot in his mouth.

Steve scowls down at the mission reports in front of him. He’s supposed to be filling them out, out but hasn’t made much progress because he’s been mentally facepalming at his own stupidity. Why does he do that anyways? Always wind up saying the wrong thing to Natasha? Why can’t he watch his damn mouth around her? Why is his first instinct, when he feels hurt by her, to hurt her back? Why is he such a moron?

As he half-heartedly scribbles in details of their last encounter with MODOK, Steve reminds himself that he’s a clumsy oaf, especially in matters of the heart. He can be gentle, but he’s not particularly _good_ at it--a fact Sharon had teased him about. But he _wants_ to be gentle with Natasha. As gentle as can be, because she deserves nice things. The nicest things!

“Dammit!” The curse makes him look up and the clang that follows makes Steve start. Natasha’s standing with her back to him, showing off her impressive musculature, hands on her hips as she stares at the armor. She doesn’t say anything after the curse. She just stomps away to the other corner of the lab with a thunderous expression on her face.

Steve watches her go, wondering if maybe he ought to follow her. But she probably isn’t in the mood for company. Curiosity getting the better of him, he abandons his reports and walks over to the armor. It’s held aloft by some kind of mechanism, with the face plate at Steve’s eye level, left side open to reveal all its circuitry. She’s in the process of repairing it from their last mission and it looks like one of the circuit boards is burnt. Steve gently taps the blackened piece of metal, lets his touch linger and run up and down the armor instead.

It fascinates him how the Iron Man armor always feels a little warm to the touch. Not as warm as skin but significantly warmer than what you’d expect out of metal. Steve’s fingertips dance up the left arm to the neck and down the chest. He lingers at the arc reactor, marveling yet again at Natasha’s brilliance. How many people could have been in her situation and come out of it having revolutionized--

He startles out of his thoughts when he feels something hard nudge against his side. Steve whips around and comes face-to-face with DUM-E, who is curiously tilting his camera up at him. 

“Hey DUM-E,” Steve breathes out. “You scared me.”

The robot lets out an inquisitive whine before swiveling his camera back and forth between the opened armor and Steve. Steve wonders if DUM-E means to ask what’s Steve doing touching the armor. He runs his hand over the robot’s arm. “You’re wondering what I’m doing here?”

DUM-E nods enthusiastically.

“Just gathering wool...” Steve trails away. DUM-E makes another curious whine but Steve ignores him. He’s left staring at Iron Man’s silent face with butterflies in his stomach, wondering how it’s possible to feel this captivated by someone.

Closing his eyes, Steve finds himself leaning forward to press his forehead against Iron Man’s helmet. For a moment, he can fool himself into thinking that he’s embracing Natasha. That the kiss he brushes against her face-plate, where her lips would be, is something they do often, and that it’s a gesture that makes her smile because he likes to tell her that he loves Iron Man as much as he loves Natasha, and that’s...

That’s...

That’s probably never going to happen because Natasha probably just tolerates him because he’s an idiot who can’t control his mouth around her. Steve exhales, the weight of his sadness pulling him out of his fantasy. He opens his eyes, peers into the dark eyes of the silent armor, exhales once more before he turns to DUM-E, and asks, “Want to help me fill out these mission reports?”

DUM-E shakes his camera so hard his whole structure wobbles.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────  
_Imploring_

“You’re mad at me.”

It takes everything he has to not lose his temper at the statement. He’s barely hanging onto his control by a thread at this point and Steve _doesn’t_ have the capacity to have this conversation with Natasha. _Again_. 

He takes in a deep breath, hoping it’ll calm him down but it doesn’t do diddly-squat. An anger headache is pounding away behind his right ear as he carelessly sweeps through the medicine cabinet of this abandoned cabin. It’s surprisingly well stocked, all things considered. He grabs everything he needs and slams the door shut, not missing the way the noise makes Natasha flinch.

She’s perched on the toilet, both hands pressed tight against the wound on her belly. Her pale face is drawn with hurt. Whether it’s because of the physical pain or the knowledge that she’s in deep shit with Steve, he’s not sure. And that’s the thing that gives him pause. 

_Gentle,_ Steve reminds himself and forces himself to let go of his anger. He knows it stems from a place of worry. She’s alive and hurt but she’s whole. She’s talking. The wound, while it has bled a lot, is not critical. They’re hiding in a safe place; the other Avengers know where they are, the bad guys have been dealt with, and Natasha will be fine once she’s had her wound stitched up. _Be gentle._

“I’m _pissed,_ ” Steve readily admits, hating the way his words have Natasha’s blue eyes turning away. With another sigh, Steve sits down on the edge of the tub next to the toilet and says, far more gently but very gruffly, “But not at you.”

Hesitant blue eyes peek in his direction. The apprehension in her eyes reminds Steve of a wounded puppy and it makes his stomach twist with guilt because _he’s_ the reason behind her caution. “Who else would you be mad at?”

“Myself,” Steve admits, eyes locked on all the shit he’s collected. He pretends to sift through it when he catches Natasha glancing his way.

“Why would you--”

“Because if I’d been faster, you wouldn’t have had to make the call you made.”

That’s the thing, isn’t it? If he’d just been better, faster, stronger, then Natasha wouldn’t have been putting herself at risk to save him. He’s pulled out his melancholic thoughts by a firm touch. Natasha’s hand is squeezing his wrist. There’s some dried blood crusted underneath her fingernails. Steve’s stomach roils at the sight. Another squeeze and his eyes dart up. 

The fierce look in her eyes gives him pause, as do her words, “Don’t blame yourself. It was my choice. It’s been my choice every time and there’s nothing I’d change.”

“I know. And I wish you wouldn’t have to do that.”

“Not be a hero? Not save your life?” Natasha snarks back immediately. See, that’s how Steve knows everything’ll be fine. She’s got a hole in her belly you could stick your finger through, but she’s still being a sarcastic shit. 

As much as that thought amuses him, Steve can’t shake off his worry. “Not get hurt.”

And it looks like he’s just surprised Natasha Stark into silence. That’s a feat. She sits there on the toilet, with her big, wide eyes, mouth parted in a surprised little O. Her lips move a few times, shaping words but nothing comes out. It’s gratifying and it also gives him the courage to explain himself. As Steve threads the needle, ignoring the way his fingers are shaking, he repeats himself in a lower voice, “I wish you didn’t have to get hurt.”

His mind flashes back to the last time he’d seen Natasha wearing a swimsuit. It’d been a conservative one piece, strapless, with a summery floral print. And as breathtaking as it’d been to see her like that, it’d been _awful_ realizing how many scars it exposed: nicks, jagged white lines, pock marks, and pink knotted patches that made him stare, stomach twisting awfully as he remembered _how_ she’d gotten those particular hurts on their many missions.

Steve knows he can’t stop Natasha. He’d be a hypocrite if he tried to tell her not to sacrifice herself for the sake of her friends. But he still wishes, a child’s irrational hope that she stop getting because of him...

Save for Natasha’s stifled noises of pain as Steve stitches her up, it quiet hangs between them. Steve focuses on his fingers, focusing on completing one task after the other until there’s nothing left to be done except cleaning up and helping Natasha lie down to sleep until they’re rescued. 

It’s when he’s tucking her into bed that she says, “I can’t bear it either, you know.” Steve pauses, interrupted in the middle of unfolding a fluffy purple quilt. It hits him all over again how blue Natasha’s eyes are. Like the clearest blue sapphires. 

She blinks hazily at him when he softly asks, “Can’t bear what?”

“Seeing you hurt. I can’t stand it. If I can take away your pain... then all the pain is worth it.”

He wants to cry. Steve wants to _cry_ at the admission Natasha’s just made. He knows that it’s probably the pain talking, or the painkillers he’d made her take right before stitching her up but...

There’s a lump in his throat that expands when he leans in to press a hard, tender kiss to her pale forehead. He lingers there, lips pressed together to keep a sob at bay, and eyes squeezed shut. He feels her shocked exhale blow past his neck and pulls away.

“Sleep,” Steve urges her. She blinks up at him, swimming in the clothes they’d found in the closet, hair a damp mess. She looks so beautiful it almost hurts to look at her. “I’ll wake you up when the others come.”

“Promise?” She asks, fingers somehow finding his and threading them together.

“I promise.” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────  
_Regret_

Steve stops at the doorway. He watches Sam come to a halt two steps ahead, head tilted in confusion, wondering why Steve’s paused. Steve holds up a finger, wordlessly asking Sam to wait before he backtracks.

Natasha’s still seated, head bowed and hands clasped between her knees, opened tie hanging off her neck. With the red lighting, the picture she makes is ominous. Part of the reason he’s turned back is because he feels guilty. The other part is giving up on the irrational part of him, the child in him that always hurts when Natasha says she can’t fight by his side. It feels wrong, going into battle without her. But Steve understands. Natasha's standing in her company is delicate; one wrong move and she'll lose all the critical ground she's gained. She can't interfere anymore or else she might be taken to court. And he doesn't want Natasha to feel bad for saying no to him either.

So this time, instead of just touching her shoulder, he kneels by her side and asks softly, “Will you be okay?” 

She turns a wan smile at him. “Of course.”

Steve stares back, waiting patiently, because he knows her. Too well, in fact. Natasha’s smile wobbles before falling off her face. Angry tears rise up, to be quickly rubbed away by an impatient hand. Natasha sniffs once, looking away as she mutters, “I hate this. I hate that I can’t go with you.”

He could say, _you can. I’d like you to._ But he can’t be that selfish. He’s been selfish enough as it is, dragging her into this mess. Instead, he squeezes her elbow and reminds her, “You can keep eyes on us through the comms.”

“I can’t even do that.” Natasha’s voice breaks at the admission, heart broken. She hides her face in her palms, a fine tremble running through her body. It must be agonizing, Steve realizes, wanting to help someone but being unable to at the risk of losing everything you’ve worked tooth and nail to regain. His body moves on autopilot, reaching out to pull her in for a hug they both need.

Her arms curl around him in a heartbeat, cheek pressed against the white star in the center of his chest. They kneel on the hard floor for an age, clinging to each other like scared children. Steve hates himself when he lets go, wishing he didn’t have to go, that he could stay and help her to the couch, feed her, comfort her, help her regain some stability in her life. But instead, he has to chase after Bucky because he owes Bucky _so much._

“I’ll be back soon,” Steve promises, hands on her shoulders. How much burden do those small shoulders carry? It’s a wonder to Steve how strong Natasha is. One day, when he’s feeling courageous enough, he’ll tell her that she’s his inspiration, his reason for fighting every day. “I promise.”

“You’d better,” she sniffs, wiping her tears away with the palm of her hand. “Or else I’m coming after you.”

Inexplicably, Steve smiles. He knows in this moment that everything’s going to be alright. That if something goes wrong, Natasha will come and save him. She’s his lighthouse, guiding him home every time he’s lost. He’s about to say this when Natasha’s dark head dips down. Steve feels his breath stammer when Natasha kisses the center of his white star. _Oh_. That...

She looks up at him, pride, hope, and a million other emotions flashing through her eyes. “Bring Bucky home,” Natasha tells him.

Tongue swollen, Steve can’t do anything but rasp, “I will.”

  
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

_Affection_

Natasha’s laugh, her real laugh, is this breathless, dorky little chuckle that warms Steve up from the inside out; it's like drinking a perfect cup of hot chocolate on a cold day. He knows she doesn’t mean for it to be seductive; she hates it, saying that she sounds like Barbie on helium, but Steve loves it. And he loves being the one to make her laugh like that.

She leans heavily on him as they continue their stroll in Bryant Park. Steve and Natasha are on a date; she’s wearing his jacket, tucked under his arm. Bucky’s back home and recovering. The team hasn’t faced a major threat in two weeks. Steve’s never felt more at peace with the world. 

He compulsively squeezes her shoulder, heart singing in delight because he can. Knowing that Natasha likes him the same way he likes her has him wanting to break into song. His good mood takes a dip, however, when a pair of teens hurrying by them.

“They’re jerks,” the blue-skinned boy is telling his friend, who is holding a soda can against his swollen and bruised scaled face. “Bullies like them always get what’s coming to them, sooner or later.”

“Wish it was sooner instead of later. I’m scared he’ll hurt me bad one of these days.”

“Maybe we should talk to someone about it. Mr. Bolton maybe?”

He feels Natasha stiffen at the conversation. She stays silent and frozen long after the boys have walked away. A touch worried, Steve directs them over to the closest bench and asks, “Something wrong?”

She looks on the verge of saying something. Steve waits patiently, watching her expression twist into something ugly, like she just bit into a lemon. Whatever’s on her mind is unpleasant but she also doesn’t seem to have words to express herself. It’s unusual and it sends a thrum of worry through Steve. 

Natasha exhales explosively, scrubbing a hand through her hair, glancing back at the boys as she mutters, “It... It’s probably nothing. But... I...” Shaking her head hard, Natasha turns back to him, blue eyes pinning him in place. “There’s a rumor floating around Washington that the government’s planning to introduce a new bill that’ll force superheroes to register.”

Steve can’t help but laugh at the idea; it’s _ridiculous_. “Good luck with that.”

He waits for Natasha to laugh in agreement. His heart sinks when she bites her bottom lip, worries it between her teeth before confessing in a hushed tone, “I think they’re serious this time, Steve. I’m hoping nothing’s going to come of it but...”

The urge to comfort and reassure her as she worries isn’t anything new. What’s different this time, however, is that Steve can wrap his arm around her and hug her tightly. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

Natasha’s still for half a second before she melts into him, arms wrapping around his waist. Her grip on him is _tight_ . So much so that he has to strain to breathe deeply. Fuck. She’s _genuinely_ worried about this. Her voice is muffled in his chest but he hears her plea anyway: “You promise?”

“I promise.” Face buried in her dark hair, Steve continues, softer but with no less determination, “No matter what happens, no matter what comes our way, I’ll always be by your side.”

Natasha snorts wetly into his shirt. “Careful there Steve. That almost sounded like a proposal.”

Well. He hadn’t meant for that to happen, but ... _but..._

Steve’s heart races as he admits, “You could take it as one.”

Natasha immediately pulls away in surprise. Lashes wet and eyes bright, she looks up at him, wonderous and taken aback, and asks, “What?”

Heat crawls up the back of his neck. Steve wants to reach back and scrub it away, but this is too important. Besides which, Natasha’s seen him at his best and worst, and everything in between. What’s a little more embarrassment on top of all their history? And more importantly, he wants her to know he’s serious about her, about them. He’s in it for the long haul. 

So he holds her gaze and repeats himself, “Consider that a proposal.” And then his courage sprouts legs and runs away from him, causing his shoulders to bow a little under the wide-eyed look Natasha’s still giving him. Voice turning meek, Steve finishes up with a quiet, “If that’s what you want.”

Her lips move to the shape of his last words before she shakes her head and asks, “It’s. You. _Really?_ ”

There’s little to know surprise in her voice. There’s just disbelief. Like she can’t believe Steve would propose to _her_. Which, is a little insulting because he loves her and sure it’s only their first date but he’s known her for almost 10 years now and loved her for most of that period. So he figures it all comes out even at the end of the day.

“ _Really_.” Steve says, cupping her cheek with a smile. He knows this is too much to admit so soon in a new relationship but again, almost 10 years worth of history. But he’s also never been good at romance; he doesn’t know how to be smooth. He’s only ever known to be straightforward to the point of being tactless. “What’d’ya say?”

The speed with which Natasha grabs onto his shirt and yanks him for a kiss is gratifying and makes Steve’s heart sing, elated beyond words that he hasn’t scared her away. (Also wow, this _isn’t_ how he’d imagined their first to go but he’s _not_ complaining). He should have known better than to underestimate her; she never turns her back on the people she loves (and while it’s sometimes hard to believe, their friends and teammates have reassured him, there’s no one she loves more).

She stays close after they pull apart, noses pressed together as they try to catch their breath. Steve’s stomach does happy little twists every time he feels Natasha’s warm exhales puffing over his cheek. He closes his eyes and rubs their noses together.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he asks, wanting it to sound teasing but it’s just very hopeful instead.

Her hand slides up into his hair, the other continuing to rest on his chest, over his heart. “You’re crazy,” Natasha whispers against his lips. “But I must be crazier.”

Steve’s eyes fly open, hope fluttering in his chest like a hummingbird. “You mean--?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out, eyes sparkling. Oh God. Steve can feel her hands trembling against him before they fist into his hair and shirt. “This is crazy but...yeah. I’ll marry you.”

Steve didn’t know it was possible to feel so happy that it becomes overwhelming. But he welcomes the feeling, sinking into Natasha - her embrace, her love, her acceptance. He returns her tight embrace, grinning widely when she giggles. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbing her firmly by the waist and spinning them around in a delighted twirl, laughing with her because he feels so complete with her by his side. When he stops, Steve cups her glowing face between his hands and _marvels_ at Natasha’s existence and how she’s picked him to love.

“I love you so much,” Steve breathes out, unable to take his eyes off her because nothing suits Natasha Stark more than pure, unadulterated happiness. 

He presses kisses into her hair, beaming when he hears her say, “I love you too. Always have.”


End file.
